


Options

by DianaSolaris



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Black Paladin Keith (Voltron), Hunk (Voltron)-centric, Season/Series 03, post-s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 23:26:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12543640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaSolaris/pseuds/DianaSolaris
Summary: Option one: fight. Option two: flight. Option three: freeze. Hunk's always poring through the options in his head. There's always too many to choose from.He doesn't have a problem. Everything's fine.Originally written for the Potential Zine!





	Options

                The board quivered as he took another mincing step onto it, and the scattered laughs from behind him got louder. “Come on, Hunk! Just do it!”

                Right behind him came a different, soothing voice. “It’s okay, man. You can do it.”

                Hunk breathed in. He stepped out to the edge of the board. It bent, and he tried not to whimper. Weren’t there jokes about this? The fat kid at the end of the diving board?

                He looked down. The water rose up at him, flat and blue with chlorine and very, _very_ far away –

                He took a nervous step back. Lance’s fingers met his, encouraging, worried, but he shook his head. “I can’t do it,” he whispered, and the shame in his stomach was worse than the snickers behind him, black and heavy and ready to sink him right to the bottom.

                _Option one. I hit at the wrong angle. I break my neck._

_Option two. I hit too fast. I hit to the bottom. I crumple like tinfoil._

_Option three. I launch at an angle. I hit the side of the pool. I break my spine._

_Option four. Win the game by not playing._

Win by being a coward.

                He’d take it.

\----

                The Black Lion seat was empty.

                Hunk turned away. He breathed. _One two three four –_ It was supposed to work – counting, breathing, waiting. It was what other people told him to do, every time his heart plummeted and his hands began to tremble, every time the possibilities rushed into his head, making him more and more afraid.

                He turned back. Shiro wasn’t there.

                And see, that didn’t make sense. Not that the world made much sense these days. It had gone from a world he could touch and see and understand, a world he could measure, to a very long, dark, ride down a tunnel he couldn’t see the end of.

                _Don’t panic._

                Shiro was supposed to say that. That was what came next.

                No Shiro.

                _Don’t panic._

No Shiro meant no guide meant no Voltron, it meant –

                -he could feel the board creaking under his feet, and he looked down and the void of space stretched open, and it laughed at him.

\---

                It started as a way of analyzing the environment. A way of knowing what was happening around him. A way of making a decision.

                But then – _but then –_

                -too many paths turned out to be just as bad as not enough, and a million paths, a million possibilities, _anything_ could go wrong, anything could happen –

                -there’s a reason why ‘may you have an interesting life’ is a curse.

\---

                 The blow took him by surprise, and he fell to the ground, head ringing. It was a good thing they’d been working with staffs. Even with his helmet on, Keith’s sword would have –

                _Option one: Hit with the flat. Concussion or other blunt-force trauma._

_Option two: Hit with the sharp end. Sliced through the head. Possible brain damage._

_Option three: -_

Stop. Stop, stop, stop –

                “Hunk?” Keith stood over him, looking concerned. Hunk didn’t need him to look concerned. He needed him to hit him again.

                He got to his feet. “Man, that one _hurt,_ ” he said lightly. His head was still ringing.

                “Are you sure you're alright? We can stop-"

              "No," Hunk said, too quickly. Keith would hear it - the immediacy, the suddenness in his voice, _option one: he thinks i'm crazy, option two: he thinks I'm stupid -_

              But instead Keith just smirked, stepped back and lifted the staff again. He wasn't Lance. Lance would have noticed, would have insisted on stopping, would have bothered Hunk into telling him what was really wrong. Keith either didn't notice at all, or he didn't care.

              Hunk was just fine with that.

              He got to his feet, and held up the staff - and winced a little as Keith knocked it into the right position.

              "You're holding it wrong again."

              "Sorry." Hunk adjusted it, tried to mirror Keith's position. It was just something else he needed to get better at - something else he couldn't do.

              His head was still ringing. He decided not to tell anybody.

* * *

                Things were changing. Keith was in charge now; they’d shifted everything else around to accommodate. It was a pretty blatant message. Shiro wasn’t coming back.

                So Lance was in Red now. Allura was in Blue. Nobody had even suggested that Hunk move lions, and honestly, he didn’t want to.

                _Option one: freak out. Make everybody worry about you, again. Make yourself a burden, again. Be just as fucking useless as you always are._

_Option two: deal with it._

He would do that. They could form Voltron now, which meant everything was fine.

Still, the first time Keith walked into the training room in the black armour, Hunk could feel his determination slip. “I’m feeling good about this. You’ve been getting a lot better at the close combat stuff. Ready?”

                “R-ready.”

                _Don’t panic._

Keith readied his staff, and struck out – and for a moment, Hunk’s fear substituted something else entirely –

                He lashed out in response at the dark shape, the glowing eyes at the black armour that _wasn’t Shiro –_

 _-_ and Keith crumpled to the ground, hand at his side, face twisted in pain, and Hunk should have dropped the staff and run to him, but his fingers wouldn’t unlatch from the staff and he couldn’t seem to make his mouth or his muscles do what they were meant to –

                “Hunk?” Keith glared up at him. “That was a pretty hard hit – _Hunk?_ ” Keith could tell something was wrong, but the anger in his eyes meant he didn’t _understand –_

Hunk could feel his feet at the edge of the board, the dizzying height below, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “T-Take it off.”

                “Take off what?” The irritation crept into Keith’s voice, and Hunk couldn’t help the flinch, the instinct to pull away, to hide _–_ “The _armour?_ Is this about the stupid leadership stuff, because I’ve gotten enough of that from Lance.”

_Option one: stay silent. Stay like this until it passes. Have Keith hate you or be confused for however long it takes until he forgets._

_Option two: brush it off. Act normal. If you can._

_Win by not playing._

He tried, but the sinking feeling in his stomach wouldn’t go away.

                _Option three._

_Jump._

“I keep seeing Shiro,” he whispered, so low he could barely hear himself.

                “What?” Keith asked, almost incredulously.

                “I –“ He finally managed to make himself drop the staff, and he sat down on the floor, eyes still closed. “I’m scared,” he murmured. “And I – I know, I’m always scared, and I’ve been – trying so hard, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I tried – I wanted to be _better,_ I wanted to be worth it, but I –“ The tears sprung to his eyes, and he rubbed them away, sickened at himself. “I miss him and I’m _scared._ ”

                There was silence, then a rustling. Hunk opened his eyes just as Keith set the top part of the uniform aside then adjusted his black shirt. “Is that better?” he asked quietly.

                Hunk nodded, the shame coiling in his stomach again. Keith got to his feet, and that didn’t help – but then Keith walked over to him, offering a hand. Hunk took it, getting clumsily to his feet and wiping the last of his tears from his feet. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered.

                “It’s okay. We’re sparring, it happens. I’ll just have a bit of a bruise.”

                “I mean –“ Hunk cut himself off.

                Keith looked at him curiously, then gave him a sad smile. “…I miss him too. You’re not the only one who’s scared.” He took a deep breath. “The armour’s a bit big on me. But don’t tell Lance that.”

                “Of course not.” 

                It helped not to be the only scared one. It didn’t make the feeling go away – but it helped.

* * *

                 _Option one: Fight_

_Option two: Flight_

_Option three: Freeze_

_Option four: Breathe._

 


End file.
